


when you wake up the world will come around

by lucifucker



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, The Academy Is...
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Kid!Fic, Like, M/M, Mostly Fluff, actually almost completely fluff, dad!joe, dad!pete, i guess theyre both dads anyway now but, im so bad at writing smut there is not much, very little smut, whatever, which
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:53:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1889139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifucker/pseuds/lucifucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dude. Dude. Your weird stalker crush is on Pete Wentz.” Joe just shakes his head because what the fuck is a Pete Wentz?</p><p>--------</p><p>Or, the Joe/Pete kidfic that everyone secretly needed but I was the only one to write.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when you wake up the world will come around

**Author's Note:**

> For Bel, who is the only reason I finished this. Thanks, babycakes.

It is, Joe thinks, the worst of all of the various American cultural idioms that young girls want disney princess sheets.

 

What’s even worse than that is that it’s his job to pick them out. Joe scowls at the shelves stacked with bright pink and blue bedding looming over him, and adjusts the phone nestled between his cheek and shoulder.

“Belle is the one with the tiger, right?” He asks, raising an eyebrow as he pulls a plastic-wrapped monstrosity down to eye level.

“No, Papa, that’s Jasmine!” Alex laughs, and Joe rolls his eyes. “Belle has the gold dress!” He stares at the shelf for another long minute, and to be honest every time he looks at it his head kind of aches, but finally, he spots the one he wants, brown hair, gold dress, weird...giant...mammal standing next to what he can only assume is ‘Belle’.

“Got it.” There’s the sound of faint cheering on the other end, and then Patrick's voice comes through.

“Don't fuck it up, again, Trohman. She'll kill you." Joe rolls his eyes, and curses (thanks) whatever god there is for creating Patrick Stump, and letting him be Joe's babysitter. 

"I got it, I swear."

"Hmmm." Patrick doesn't sound convinced, but he's an asshole, so Joe hangs up. 

Fuckin' Disney. 

 

-0-

 

He’s juggling what’s got to be ten of those little boxes of sparkly toothpaste and three or four packages of toilet paper, not to mention the fucking disney sheets as he dumps it all on the conveyor belt when he feels a tug on his shirt, and looks down to find a little boy with blonde hair, about hip height, clutching a six-pack of tiny ankle socks against his chest, and it’s not so much that Joe jumps as it is that he blinks and kind of drops some of his stuff, staring down at this kid like he’s got four heads.

 

The kid, however, is not dissuaded, and holds the socks up, an incredibly serious expression on his face.

“You dropped it.” He says, and his voice is small, and unsure, in stark contrast to the way he’s looking up at Joe. Joe takes the socks gingerly, slowly recognizing them as the ones Alex had asked for, and flicks his gaze around in search of a parent of some kind, but none makes itself apparent, so he crouches down until he’s at about eye-height with the kid and says;

“You know, my daughter would have killed me if I’d forgotten these.” He whispers with an air of confidentiality that he only ever uses on Alex, and the little boy nods slowly, his eyes wide and somehow understanding. “You saved my life, little man.” He says, grinning, and slowly, the kid smiles back. “I’m Joe.” He extends a hand, and the kid shakes it, and opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted by a voice booming through the entire store, which makes Joe literally jump.

 

“Bronx?” The kid’s head lifts, and he giggles softly to himself while Joe looks on in confusion. “Bronx, I give up! You win!” The kid, who Joe takes it must be Bronx, grins, if possible, wider. “Olly olly oxen-free! You beat me!” The voice is getting closer, and Bronx flashes Joe one last blinding smile, and then bolts out of the aisle, back toward the greeting cards, shrieking with joy as an arm almost as coated with tattoos as Joe’s closes around his middle, sweeping him up into the air in one smooth motion.

 

Joe smirks, and stands up, tossing his socks on to the top of the mounting pile of kid-crap that he’s got going. What kind of a name is ‘Bronx’? Who names their kid after a faction of New York City? He’s still thinking about it as he grabs his bags and then spins on his heel back into the store because he didn’t get fucking milk.

 

-0-

 

Two nights later, after having ordered pizza yet again because of another botched attempt at mac and cheese, he and Alex are sitting at the kitchen table, and he hears the name again.

“And Bronx said Belle was stupid so I punched him in the stomach--” And Joe’s a terrible parent, so the first thing he thinks of isn’t ‘ _wait, my kid just punched another kid_ ’ it’s;

“Wait, Bronx?” He asks around a mouthful of pepperoni. “There’s a kid in your class named Bronx?” The ‘ _and you punched him?_ ’ goes unsaid. Alex nods vehemently and smiles.

“He’s my best friend!” Who you punched? “Cause we have the same daddy.”

Joe chokes.

“You _what_?” He gasps while Alex unconcernedly sips her orange juice.

“Well, he said his daddy has tattoos, and I said my daddy has tattoos, and his daddy has weird hair, and you have weird hair--”

“Hey--”

“And his daddy plays guitar, too, and Bronx says it’s a baste one, and--” Joe runs a hand through his hair and furrows his eyebrows.

“A best one?” He asks, and Alex glares at him impassionedly.

“No, papa, a _baste_ one.”

“A bass?” She grins, and nods.

“Yeah! Yeah, that one!” Joe nods slowly, and shakes his head.

“Okay, so...if Bronx is your best friend, why’d you punch him?” Alex looks at him seriously and crosses her arms over her chest.

“He said Belle was stupid ‘cause she loves the beast.” Joe bites his lip and blinks at her.

“Okay, Alex, sweetie?” He says slowly. “I know you really like…”

“Belle.”

“Belle, but I don’t think you need to hit people just because they don’t, right?” Alexis huffs, and looks down, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No, Papa, you don’t get it.” She mutters, and Joe tries not to thunk his own head down on the table.

“Get what?”

“He said she’s dumb because she likes the beast.” She insists, and Joe nods.

“Right. But--”

“But if it’s dumb that she loves the beast it’s dumb that I love you!” And that’s enough to get him to pause for a second, because, what?

“Wait, so...I’m the beast.” Alex nods furiously, and Joe sighs. “And you’re the princess.” She nods again. “And Bronx said that it was dumb for the princess to like the beast so you socked him.” Alex sits back in her chair looking deeply self-satisfied.

 

“So...what you’re saying...” Joe looks up slowly, and narrows his eyes, letting his voice drop just a little lower as he squares his shoulders. “Is that I’m a big hairy monster.” Alex giggles, and slides down off her seat and under the table, scrambling to get out of the kitchen even as Joe lunges for her.

 

They end up on the living room floor, with Alex thrown over Joe’s shoulder, laughing hysterically while he parades her around shouting “Take it back! Take it back!”

 

He doesn’t think about Bronx, or his mysteriously tattooed dad, for the rest of the night.

 

He definitely doesn’t actually notice that the first thing Alex does upon getting to the daycare center is run up to a little boy with golden-blonde hair and point at him while they whisper conspiratorially to each other.

 

-0-

 

“So this guy you’re stalking--”

“I’ll kill you, Gabe.”

“Watching?”

“Digging the hole deeper, there.”

“Interested in.” Joe groans, and lets his head drop down onto his desk, narrowly managing to keep his hair from falling into the ink he still hasn’t cleaned up from his client this morning.

“I regret having spoken. Pretend I never spoke.” Gabe pokes his neck and keeps going.

“This guy. He’s got tattoos, and a kid. This is all you know about him?” Joe nods, slowly, and he feels more than sees Gabe’s raised eyebrow. “Dude, why do you care?” Joe slams his head down on the counter, twice, and then looks up.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” He groans, shakes his head, and rests it on his hands. “I don’t even know….anything, I’ve only ever seen his arms, what the actual fuck is this?”

“True love.” William says breezily as he passes by, and Joe whips one arm out in his vague direction, managing somehow to flick his shoulder, but not much else.

“What’s the kid’s name?” Gabe asks, and Joe runs his fingers through his hair.

“Bronx.” Gabe freezes for a second, and then laughs out loud, twirling around in his stupid spinny chair, and guffawing at the top of his lungs. Joe looks up at him and glares until Gabe manages to calm down enough to speak.

“Dude. _Dude_. Your weird stalker crush is on Pete Wentz.” Joe just shakes his head because what the fuck is a Pete Wentz?

“These words mean nothing to me.” Gabe smacks him upside the head.

“Pete and I, _cabron_ , we’re tight.” Joe rubs the side of his head and contemplates castrating Gabe with a wooden spoon, but stays quiet as he continues. “Pete is Bronx’s dad.”

Joe stares at him for a second, and then shakes his head.

“You’re full of shit.” And he believes it, for about three-ish seconds, until Gabe shoves his phone into Joe’s face, and he’s forced to come to terms with the image that’s set as his background picture, a photo of Gabe with his arm wrapped around some guy with emo hair, who’s got a blonde-haired--who’s got Bronx sitting on his shoulders.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Gabe grins.

“Nope. You wanna go on a playdate?”

 

So maybe the whole castration thing was more than just a fleeting idea.

  
  


-0-

 

A week later he’s kind of forgotten the whole thing when he comes to pick up Alex from daycare. Alex, who, of course, in all of her wisdom, drags Bronx over to him by his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles backpack (Bronx, who is also towing a fully grown adult with black hair and blacker clothes that makes Joe’s stomach do something weird) and demands a playdate.

“I want Bronx to come over and Bronx’s daddy says only if you say yes and you’re here so say yes!” She exclaims.

“Pleeeeeease?” Bronx keens, and Joe has to blink a few times before looking up, and being met with the widest smile he’s ever seen.

 

The guy in front of him is definitely the guy from Gabe’s phone, except with less eyeliner and cropped hair, and he extends a hand which Joe has to actually pinch himself in order to take.

“Pete.” The guy says, and it take Joe what feels like an actual full minute to respond with;

“I know.” He flinches, and shakes his head, because crap that was not what he meant to say. “I mean, no, like, uh--” Pete laughs softly, and Joe stares at him.

“Yeah, no, Gabe told me about you meeting the monster.” He flicks Bronx’s ear, and Bronx makes a face up at his father but says nothing.

“Right.”  Joe says, and then remembers why they’re talking in the first place. “Right, so, um. They want…”

“Playdates!” Alex and Bronx supply in unison, helpfully, and...loudly, and Pete nods.

“I mean, if you’re down for it, I don’t see why not.” He says, shrugging, and Joe nods, again, and kind of realizes he’s been nodding for the past minute as he forces himself to stop.

“Yeah, that’s. I mean.” He mentally punches himself in the face, and continues. “Yeah, sure, sounds great.” This is happening very fast, and Pete’s grin is kind of distracting.

“Cool, um.” And there’s a hand on his, and literally nothing in the world makes sense, but Pete’s pulling a pen out of his pocket, and is writing something on Joe’s palm, and he’s got the cap in his mouth and seriously, what the actual fuck is happening right now.

“I know this looks like a bunch of random numbers, but it’s actually my phone number. Call me when you get sick of him?” Pete says around the pen before capping it, and shoving it back in his pocket. “His booster is by his cubby.” Joe finally manages to smile, and really, really fucking hopes it doesn’t look as much like his entire face is cracking in half as he thinks it does.

“Uh, yeah. Sounds great.” You said that already, dumbass. “See you...later, I guess.” Pete smirks, and crouches down, ruffling Bronx’s hair, and pulling him into a loose hug.

“I’ll see you in a couple hours, bud. Be good, okay?” Bronx slugs his dad in the side, and Pete makes an ‘oof’ sound, but he keeps grinning, so Joe figures it’s about as fucking adorable as it looks.

 

Pete straightens up, and shoots one last grin at Joe as he turns away, hands in his pockets, and bouncing toward the exit.

“Well that was...fast.” Joe says aloud once he’s out of earshot, and Bronx nods, grinning wide, just like his dad.

“Daddy does lots of stuff fast. That’s what mommy said.” Joe goes completely stiff, and stares down at Bronx for a second, who’s got Alex helping him adjust the straps on his backpack, completely ineffectually.

“Let’s uh...let’s go home, huh, guys?” Joe stammers, and Alex whoops and grabs Bronx’s hand, leading the way toward the car.

 

-0-

 

All in all, it’s actually a pretty fucking sweet playdate.

 

Bronx and Alex make a blanket fort in her room (and honestly, Joe only helps a little bit) and they end up watching Beauty and the Beast on Joe’s ancient piece-of-shit laptop because Alex insists that Bronx ‘doesn’t get it’ and Bronx continues to respond with “but he’s an _animal_ , Alex!”

 

So they watch it, and about fifteen minutes in, Bronx is watching with rapt attention, and when it gets to the part in the ballroom, Alex demands that her ‘beast’ dance with her, so Joe picks her up and swirls her around as best he can in the confines of the admittedly spacious blanket fort while Bronx laughs and laughs.

 

He sets her down, and Alex tugs him down and smacks a kiss to his cheek, saying;

“See? He’s my prince!” She grabs Bronx, who’s still laughing, and spins him around until they’re both dizzy and fall over on the pillows as the Beast and Belle almost-but-don’t-kiss-because-that-would-condone-beastiality. Which Joe doesn’t say, but it’s still true.

“You’re the beast!” Bronx shrieks, giggling uncontrollably when Joe grabs him and lifts him into the air.

“Am not!” He growls, doing what he hopes is the best prince-turned-wild-animal impression he can do, and apparently it’s pretty good, because Bronx howls with laughter and Alex leaps onto his chest shouting “Beastie! Beastie! Beastie!”

 

By the time the movie is over it’s almost nine, and Bronx and Alex are both fast asleep when Joe finally remembers that he has to call Pete, and freaks out a little bit because when did six hours go by?

 

Pete’s not pissed though, on the contrary, he’s still wearing that stupid fucking grin when he shows up at Joe’s doorstep, having called three times for directions because he is, to quote Pete, “about as useless as that fucking paperclip in microsoft word” when it comes to navigation skills.

 

“You found it.” Joe says, smile spreading across his face just upon looking at Pete’s.

“Eventually.” Pete laughs, ducking his head as he comes in, and Joe inwardly high-fives himself for actually cleaning the apartment last week. “You live in the Bermuda Triangle, kind of.”

“They’re conked out in her room.” Joe supplies as Pete slips off his shoes, and what the fuck, no-one is that observant, fucking Gabe doesn’t take off his shoes when he comes in here.

“Yeah, I figured, since you mentioned that on the phone.” Pete teases, and Joe’s back to slapping himself in the face in his head, again.

“Right. Well.” Joe forces himself to lean against the counter, and shrugs. “I’ve had quite a day, since apparently our kids have decided they’re best friends.” Pete chuckles, and nods, and rests himself against the fridge, folding his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, I guess so. Apparently we’re also the same person?” Joe lifts up both his bared arms and Pete pushes up the sleeves of his hoodie.

 

They both grin, and where Joe’s is tight and unsure, Pete’s is as smooth and wide as the Cheshire cat’s.

 

It’s kind of intoxicating.

 

Somehow, they end up sitting on the kitchen floor, of all places, talking about their kids, and their lives, and fucking Gabe, and by the time Pete actually scoops Bronx up to take him home, it’s almost ten.

 

Bronx wakes up just long enough to wrap his arms around Joe’s neck and say “G’night, Beastie” before he’s dozing off in Pete’s arms again.

 

Joe smiles and waves and feels like an idiot, but when he collapses into bed he sleeps better than he has in months.

 

-0-

 

The next morning when he wakes up at ass-o’clock in the morning to make Alex breakfast, he has a text, something he’s not sure he’s ever actually received before, crotchety old man that he is, from Pete.

 

_let’s be friends. can dads be friends? thats a thing, right? dad-friends?_

And he can’t help but laugh, really, because it’s like he’s sixteen again, and this guy, no, this fucking adult male with a fucking child, is texting him asking him to be friends.

 

So he does the only thing he can even think to do.

 

He fumbles over the little (fucking tiny) keys on his phone, and texts back.

 

_Definitely a thing._

And his entire body definitely does not buzz with excitement when Pete texts back:

 

_good._

-0-

 

Andy calls the next day, sounding too tired and too strung out, but he laughs when Joe asks if the beard’s grown back, yet, and that’s something. Andy talks about the redwoods, and the dog that he saved from some asshole out west and named Matt.

 

Joe sits on the kitchen floor with the house phone pressed against his ear, and says;

 

“I met this dude.” And Andy says;

“Special?”

“Maybe.”

“Be careful.” And Joe’s chest clenches because Andy’s using the special Joe Voice, that’s soft and sweet but just as commanding as it needs to be.  He nods, and then sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“I miss you.” He can hear the smile in Andy’s voice when he replies, which is probably the best thing that’s happened to him all day.

“I miss you, too. Now stop hogging the phone so I can talk to the little princess.”

Joe rolls his eyes and drags himself up off the ground so he can find Alex.

  
  
  


-0-

 

Halfway through a bearded lady sitting on the back of a sea monster on some very insanitary trucker guys bicep, Joe’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He resolutely ignores it until he’s done with the scaling, and then tells the dude to take a break and pulls it out, standing up and stretching his legs with what must be a creaking sound considering how it feels to move his knees. It’s from Pete.

 

_fingerpaints + hide and go seek tag: 0/10 would not recommend._

Joe grins at the mental image of a paint-coated Bronx splattering pink and blue all over Pete and starts to answer as he’s walking toward the bathroom in the back, passing Gabe’s station as he goes.

“Romeo come a-callin?” Gabe coos, not looking up from the tramp stamp he’s in the middle of. Gabe generally doesn’t actually consent to do tramp stamps, citing ‘extreme stupidity’ as an unreasonable motivation to get a tattoo, but this one looks pretty baller, and Gabe’s got a weak streak for mermaids a mile wide, so it’s happening anyway.

“Shut up, Saporta.” He mutters, and tries not to kick Gabe in the leg in the middle of tattooing when he replies;

“Slut up, Trohman, it’s been literally a year.”

 

It takes him a minute to figure out what Gabe actually means, and when he does, it’s kind of groundbreaking.

 

He and Marie broke up a year ago. He literally has not gotten laid in a year. Fuck.

 

He ignores the little depressing twist in his stomach and goes back to texting Pete.

 

-0-

 

Joe decided a very, very long time ago that the mall was an evil place that ought to be burned to the ground.

 

This opinion is only more justified when he’s getting directed toward “Justice: For Girls” over the phone by an insane six-year-old with a frankly unhealthy obsession with the color pink.

 

It’s made worse when he hears a small, quavering, painfully familiar voice say;

“Daddy said I _can’t_.” Joe whirls around mid-stride, almost on instinct, eyes searching the not-so-crowded storefronts until his gaze lands on a woman who’s crouched down next to a blonde boy in a Van Halen t-shirt, who’s clutching an ancient, weather-worn teddy bear to his chest like a lifeline while tears stream down his face. He  pauses for a second, and then murmurs that he’ll call Alex back as he moves forward and hangs up the phone.

 

Joe crouches down to Bronx’s level, and tries to ignore the pain in his chest when he realizes that the little boy is crying so hard that he can’t breathe.

“Bronx?” He says softly, and the kid’s head immediately shoots up.

“Beastie.” He gasps, and throws himself forward, giving Joe just enough time to let go of his bags and accept the child hurtling at his chest, pulling Bronx into a tight hug.

“Hey, bud.” He chuckles, and then shakes his head, looking at the woman who’s now looking supremely uncomfortable as the scene unfolds in front of her. “Wh--”

“He was wandering around asking if people had seen his dad,” She cuts him off, shaking her head slowly. “But when I asked him to come into the booth and let me call him on the loudspeaker he said he wasn’t allowed. Wouldn’t even tell me his name.” Joe takes a deep breath, and nods, rubbing Bronx’s back gently.

“His dad’s name is Pete.” He explains, and the woman’s shoulders immediately relax. “He’s got to be here, somewhere.” She opens her mouth to say something else, and Joe continues. “I’ll stay with him.”  Her mouth snaps shut, and she smiles, nodding as she stands up and heads back toward her kiosk.

 

Joe pulls back, and wipes the tears away from Bronx’s cheeks, taking solace in the fact that he’s not sobbing anymore.

“Bronx, buddy, where’s your dad?” He murmurs, and Bronx looks at his shoes, scuffing them on the floor.

“I cheated.” He mumbles at his feet, and Joe raises an eyebrow.

“Cheated at what?” Because, seriously, what?

“Hide n’ seek.” Ah, Joe thinks as the dawning realization registers.

“Yeah?” Bronx nods, and squeezes his dilapidated bear ever-tighter.

“Daddy says I’m not allowed to leave Target. Cause everywhere else is outta bounds.” He says, finally looking up at Joe, and swallowing thickly. “But I cheated. Me and Beelzebub hid in there.” He points toward Aeropostale, and Joe lets out the tiniest of laughs before nodding solemnly and returning his attention to Bronx.

“Beelzebub?” He raises his eyebrows. Bronx holds the bear up a little higher, and Joe nods slowly.

“And he didn’t find you, did he?” He asks gently, and Bronx just shakes his head.

“He’s gonna be mad.” He says so quietly that Joe can barely hear, but Alex is basically the queen of mumbling when she’s in trouble, so he’s kind of trained his ears to hear nigh-silent sounds. Joe wipes at Bronx’s cheeks again and shakes his head.

“I don’t think he’s gonna be mad, Bronx.” Bronx shakes his head vehemently in return.

“No. No, he’s gonna, cause I cheated.” Joe sighs, and pulls Bronx close again, wrapping him up in an act of affection that’s probably not the most normal for a kid that’s not yours, but right now he can honestly say he doesn’t give a single shit.

“Bronx, I promise, your dad’s not gonna be mad at you.” He squeezes gently. “Scared, maybe, but not mad, okay?” Bronx pulls back, and gives Joe a look that he’s assuming he’s going to need to get used to, vaguely suspicious with a hint of skepticism.

“Promise?” He demands, and Joe holds up his pinkie (Alex has taught him a lot as a parent, mostly this) which Bronx takes hesitantly.

“Promise.”

 

About thirty seconds later Pete’s voice booms through the entire hallway, shouting Bronx’s name, and Bronx leaps to hide behind Joe, who sets his jaw, and hoists him up into the air, ignoring the little ‘oof’ sound that Bronx makes as he’s lifted over Joe’s shoulder, and normally he’d feel bad, but Pete’s running, like, really running, bolting through the mall, looking anxious and bedraggled and so fucking afraid, and Joe can’t even think about anything else, right now.

“Bronx?” Pete’s voice is hoarse, and his eyes are maybe a little red, and fuck, Joe’s really fucking fucked, isn’t he?

“Pete.” He calls, and Pete whips around from where he’d been about to run into Hot Topic, freezing when he catches sight of Joe and Bronx, and bolts over, not bothering to breathe or speak as he pulls Bronx, and, by extension, Joe, into his arms, because Bronx refuses to let go of Joe’s shirt.

“Oh my god.” He’s gasping for air, and now that he’s close Joe can see the wetness on his cheeks and _fuck_ that hurts, even as Pete’s burying his face in Bronx’s hair and littering kisses over the top of his head, one arm wrapped securely around the little boy’s frame, and the other somehow managing to curl around Joe’s waist. “Oh my god, you’re okay.” Pete takes a long, deep breath, resting his forehead against his son’s, and lets it out in a dry exhale. “You’re okay.”

 

And Joe doesn’t know what else to do, so he explains, because Bronx’s mouth is shut tight and he’s not saying a word, fingers still curled so tight in Joe’s shirt collar that its straining against the back of his neck, and Pete’s starting to calm down and look more confused than scared as he cradles what he can of Bronx to his chest.

“I found him out here freaking out, I guess he says he left Target to cheat at hide and seek?” Pete looks up at him, eyes wide and definitely filled with tears, and Joe’s very, very aware of exactly how close their faces are to each other when  Pete pulls him closer, hugging him more purposefully this time.

“Thank you.” He breathes, and Joe just kind of stands a still as he can and rests his hand lightly on the small of Pete’s back and furiously ignores the fact that his throat is clenching up.

“Yeah, of course.” Pete pulls back, and lets go, and Joe belatedly remembers to remove his arm from where it’s wrapped around Pete, who’s framing Bronx’s face with his hands, stroking his thumbs over the little boy’s cheeks.

“Bronx, baby, don’t ever do that to me, again, okay?” Pete bites his lip and swallows thickly. “Don’t scare me like that, please.” Bronx finally chooses this moment to let go of his deathgrip on Joe and throw himself into his father’s arms, clinging to Pete in a way that reminds Joe painfully clearly of the day he’d moved out.

 

He stands there awkwardly for a long moment, and then decides that since he’s not actually a part of this family, he’s pretty sure it’s about time he sauntered off, so after laying a small pat on Pete’s shoulder, he starts to sidle back toward the bag he dropped by the kiosk, pulling his phone out of his pocket, and dialing the home number again. Pete and Bronx are a little busy desperately clutching each other to notice, so he figures it’s not a problem.

 

-0-

 

Four hours later when he finally gets home from the satan-pit that they call a Chicago mall, he gets a text from Pete.

 

 _Bronx says that ‘beastie came and held him and promised i wouldn’t be mad’ till i got there._ Joe swallows hard, wondering if he’s crossed some parental line in the sand, until another one comes through.

 

 _thanks for being his dad while i ran around the mall, screaming._ And now, finally, Joe can let his shoulders relax, taking a break from stirring the pasta he still hasn’t managed to destroy long enough to shoot back;

 

_anytime._

_maybe don’t disappear next time, tho. we like you._

And Joe doesn’t even know how to respond to that, so he just shoves his phone back into his pocket and pretends he’s not swooning.

 

-0-

 

“You like him.”

“No, I don’t.”

“No, you’re right, actually.” Joe looks up from the sketch he’s working on (seriously, who wants a tattoo of JFK’s face surrounded in roses on their fucking thigh?) and stares at Gabe because there is literally no way that he actually just bowed on this. Gabe smirks. “You _love_ him.”

 

Joe picks up his gun from where he’d left it on his desk and points it at Gabe threateningly.

“I’ll put a pink kitten in the middle of that stupid fucking cobra on your chest I swear to god.” He growls, and William, in passing, leans down and pecks Gabe on the temple, adding;

“I’ll hold you down.” In a voice that Joe is uncomfortably aware means more than just the words.

Gabe’s blessedly quiet after that.

 

Joe gets out of work three hours later with his fingers covered in ink and a smile on his face because he’s an idiot and the fact that he’s picking Alex up at Pete’s makes him disgustingly happy.

 

Pete meets him out front with Alex’s backpack slung over his shoulder and that stupid easy smile on his face, and Joe is so fucking screwed.

  
  
  


-0-

 

It’s a saturday night and the literal last thing Joe’s expecting is a call from a frantic Pete Wentz, but that’s what he’s got, so he figures he may as well roll with the punches.

“Oh, thank fuck, you picked up, listen, I need a small favor. Well, no, like, a big favor, kind of. Huge, actually, basically the biggest--”

“Pete.” Joe cuts him off, because they’ve texted enough that he thinks he can take that leap, and he can practically hear the sound of Pete’s mouth clamping shut. “What do you need?”

“Ashlee didn’t know she was supposed to take Bronx tonight and I can’t miss work, not tonight, and I asked Patrick but he's--” Joe nods and cuts him off again.

“Bring him over.” He says simply, and Pete’s quiet for a second.

“I...can’t.” Joe raises an eyebrow.

“You can’t?”

“My car’s in the shop, I’m sorry, I--” Joe shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“Whatever. I’ll get Alex in the car.”

“...I literally cannot physically thank you as many times as I want to.” And from what’s coming through the phone, he means it.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see if you’re still thanking me when I let your kid eat whatever the fuck he wants, but whatever.” He hangs up and ushers Alex out the door, and grabs her backpack on the way out just in case...something, he guesses.

“Daddy, why--”

“We’re going to Bronx’s house, baby, okay?” Alex shrieks at the top of her lungs and is in the car faster than Joe can blink.

 

Fucking kids.

  
  


Pete’s apartment is cute, if he’s honest with himself, and a hell of a lot less clean than his own, but he’s not really one to judge. He gets inside the door, and Pete immediately runs up to him, and pulls him into a crushing hug, which is nice, but also unexpected, so he kind of staggers back a bit before he can get his footing enough to wrap his arms tentatively around Pete’s back.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so fucking much.” Pete gasps, and then he’s turning Joe around in his spot, and slipping out the door Joe just came in through. “I”ll be back by eleven.”

Joe just nods like the fucking dumbass he is and watches the door close, barely registering the sounds of Bronx and Alex shouting at him that it is now definitely time for treats.

  
What the fuck even is his life.

 

-0-

 

Pete’s apartment isn’t small, but it isn’t huge, either, and, in spite of the fact that it’s Joe’s first time being here, Bronx (and Alex, because fucking playdates) tow him around until he’s seen the bathroom, Bronx’s bedroom, Pete’s bedroom (which he doesn’t look in, really, he doesn’t, and he definitely doesn’t notice the Morrisey poster on the wall and smile a little) the kitchen, and the hall closet, which is apparently super-important for ‘throwing big scary monsters into’ and Joe realizes very quickly that he’s definitely going to end up in the closet at some point before he goes home. Pete’s got a dog, named Hemmingway, which is an english bulldog of which Joe deeply approves.

 

“Alright. Dinner?” He asks, and Bronx and Alex almost fall over each other running across the room to grab for the boxes of organic mac ‘n cheese, their feet thumping on the hardwood floor. Hemmingway (Hemmy, as Bronx proudly calls him) leaps around his feet as though he thinks he’s going to get any. Joe sighs, and nods. “Charred lumps it is, then.”

 

He manages to actually accomplish making dinner, which is a miracle in and of itself, and thankfully Pete’s dishwasher is exactly like Joe’s own so he doesn’t need to ask a fucking five year old for help using a dishwasher.

 

They end up watching The Corpse Bride on Netflix because apparently the only things Pete feels the need to keep on his instant queue are Tim Burton movies and Scooby Doo, and Joe’s not complaining. Alex and Bronx curl up on the floor with Hemmy in between them, and Joe sprawls on the couch.

 

Pete comes home right as the weird dead lady is turning into a thousand little tiny butterflies (moths? Joe’s not sure) and grins.

 

“Second favorite movie, ever.” He says, folding his legs under him to sit behind Alex, Bronx, and Hemmingway on the floor, with his head resting on Joe’s knee, and Joe is not swooning, because that’s ridiculous as he says;

“Second only to…”

“Nightmare Before, man.” Pete scoffs, pulling up the sleeve of his hoodie to reveal the weird skeleton thing on his arm, which Joe stares blankly at for a few seconds until Pet gets it.

 

“Please tell me you’ve seen The Nightmare Before Christmas.” Joe looks at the ceiling and whistles like a guilty man, and Pete gasps dramatically while he shoves Bronx toward the TV.

“Bronx, emergency, we have to educate him.” Bronx takes it in stride, and Joe laughs, because he guesses that living with Pete just kind of prepares you for this kind of shit.

 

The beginning credits roll, and Pete immediately starts singing along, along with Bronx, and seriously, screw Alex, because she’s bouncing along, too, and Joe just gives up and leans back against the couch.

 

“This is a classic.” Pete says, once the first song is in mid-swing. “How have you never seen this? I thought every man, woman, and child on earth had seen this.” Joe grins.

“Guess I never got around to it.”

“Unacceptable.” Pete exclaims, but he leans back again, putting his arms up on the couch, and his shoulder presses against Joe’s leg, so he figures he’s okay.

 

Around the scene where the scary green thing is fighting the cool skinny dude, Joe notices that Alex has dozed off in Pete’s lap, where she’d crawled to get him to shut up when he started loudly singing along to the song with the three creepy little kids. Pete looks like just about the happiest man on earth, watching the green thing get his seams ripped and the bugs (seriously? bugs?) crawl out, with Alex curled against his chest and Bronx conked out on the carpet at his feet.

By the time Santa Claus has sprinkled snow over the land of weird halloween monsters, Petes hand has twisted around to rest on Joe’s knee, and it should be weird, because it’s clearly, like, not as comfortable as it could be, but for some reason, it’s not.

 

Joe figures that a lot of things are less weird around Pete.

 

The end credits roll, and Pete turns to look up at Joe, smiling with every inch of his being in a way Joe wasn’t sure was possible until now.

“So?” Joe lets out the least embarrassing laugh he can, and nods.

“Pretty good.” Pete glowers at him, and he waits a second before nodding. “Fine. Really good.”

 

Pete grins, and pats Joe’s leg.

“Much better.”

-0-

 

Pete walks Joe out to the car, still carrying Alex, who’s wrapped herself around him like a small octopus, and Joe can’t help but smile as he opens the back door and watches Pete maneuver her into her booster.

“So,” Pete says as he straightens up. “Bronx really likes you.” Joe nods, and leans against the drivers side door.

“Well, good, ‘cause Alex is taking quite a fancy to you.” Pete’s grin is wide, and blinding, and perfect, and Joe’s stomach is definitely doing somersaults because he’s getting sick, not because it’s directed at him.  

“I guess we’re stuck with each other, then, kind of.” Pete says softly, and wait, what, no, Pete is not hitting on Joe, people do not hit on Joe, people like Pete do not hit on Joe.

 

Except that the next thing he knows, his back is pressed up against the side of the car, and Pete’s hand is on his neck, and Pete’s mouth is on his, and it’s fucking beautiful.

 

And really, if he’s honest with himself, he knows he should stop, because his kid is four feet away from him and Pete’s kid is upstairs asleep and he just met this guy two weeks ago, god fucking damn it.

 

But for some reason, none of that matters, and when Pete’s fingers brush over his stomach where his shirt is riding up, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, Joe lets his hands slide up Pete’s chest, and curls his arms around his neck, even though he’s fucking taller than Pete by at least two inches, but Pete’s lips are soft on his own and Pete’s tongue is flicking out over his, and honestly height doesn’t seem to matter so much, right now. The cold is biting at his cheeks, it’s March, after all, but Pete is warm, and solid against him.

 

In the end, it’s Pete who pulls away, bracing himself against Joe’s shoulders, and breathing hard, and he looks, for the second time since Joe’s met him, vulnerable.

“Sorry.” Pete stammers, and takes a small step back, and it’s barely anything, but Joe’s chest clenches at the loss all the same. “Sorry, I’m sorry, that was...I don’t…” He’s looking at the ground, like that’ll give him answers, and as Joe watches, Pete scratches the back of his head, and yeah, Joe’s got some self esteem issues, but he didn’t think he was that bad. “I just...met you, and I don’t even know if you...if you’re…about that, and--” And finally, Joe gets it.

“Pete.” He says firmly, reaching up to grab Pete’s biceps, and tug him closer. “You know that I’m, like, strictly into dick, right?”

 

Pete’s head jerks up, and his eyes are wide as saucers as he shakes his head.

“What? No? I thought, cause, like.” His gaze flicks toward Alex in the back seat, and Joe shakes his head.

“I didn’t….I’m not….” And now it’s his turn to look down, because he hates talking about this with a burning passion. “Alex’s mom, and I...we split because...of that.” Pete’s silent and still for a long minute, and then mumbles.

“But that doesn’t...I like dudes, but I don’t like...like...all dudes, so if you’re not, like, into…me, I get it, just--” Joe kisses him.

 

It’s less intense than the first time, for sure, and Pete kind of freezes a little bit at first, which is terrifying, but slowly, his mouth goes slack, and his fingers tentatively come to rest on Joe’s chest.

 

They have to part, eventually, for air, which is when Joe swallows, hard, and says;

“Hey. We should go out. Sometime.” To which Pete responds by raising one eyebrow and resting their foreheads together.

“Like, on a date?” Joe shrugs.

“If you’re down for that.” Pete grins the wide, blinding grin again, but this time, Joe’s stomach definitely does backflips completely of it’s own accord.

“I’m down for that.”

 

Joe drives home with his lips tingling and a warmth spreading across his entire body like wildfire.

 

-0-

 

In an actually shocking twist, they both actually manage to make it to the place they’d agreed to meet, and in an even more shocking twist, Joe enjoys himself.

 

Alex and Bronx both end up coming along, even though this is definitely no longer under the guise of a playdate, and Pete picks out this weird vegan bistro that has tables made out of blackboards and chalk all over the place, which the kids find to be the most amusing thing on earth, and honestly, Joe didn’t think that Chicago even had vegan restaurants, let alone kid-friendly ones, so he’s pretty impressed.

 

They sit, while the kids are playing, and order their weird vegan bistro food. Pete’s sandwich comes with pickles, which Joe spears with his little toothpick thing, and Joe very briefly has croutons on his salad, which are gone in a matter of seconds after it’s set on the table.

 

“So, other than the fact that you’re a fucking crouton-stealer,” Joe says, and Pete flashes him one of those evil fucking grins that he’s sure to pass on to his offspring. “What happened with Bronx’s mom?”

 

Pete’s face doesn’t fall, he just shrugs, and shoves another crouton in his mouth, chewing slowly.

 

“We wanted different things, kind of.” He says simply, and looks up, making eye contact with Joe. “Ashlee’s great, and she’s an amazing mom, and I think I loved her, at one point, but…” He drifts off, and then jerks his head to the side, stealing back one of his pickles. “I dunno. We sort of petered off, after a while, hey, Pete-ered, sorry, and in the end it was just...easier, this way.”

 

Joe nods, slowly, and takes another bite.

 

“What about, um…” Pete looks over at Alex and Bronx on the playground, and then back at Joe.

  
“You said Alex’s mom…” He trails off, and Joe picks up the slack.

 

“Marie was amazing.” He says evenly, because it’s true, she was, she still is. “Just...not the kind of amazing I was looking for? You know?” He shrugs, and looks at his plate. “It was all...pretty amicable, at least, after the first couple of weeks.” It’s been a struggle not to think about that, when he’d left in the middle of the night, with Alex crying and Marie glaring stonily at him from the top of the stairs, but he’s done it, for the most part. “She kind of kicked me out, which, y’know, is fair. I didn’t...cheat on her, or anything, but...it kind of just became clear it wasn’t working.” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, and lets it thump on the table, looking everywhere except Pete. “She takes Alex during winter, spring, and summer break. I have her during the school year, it’s…” Joe shrugs, and definitely doesn’t jolt when Pete’s fingers curl around his wrist on the table. He looks up, and Pete’s eyes are somber, but not pitying, like he understands, which...he probably does. Joe clears his throat, and shakes his head. "It is what it is. It was worse at first, but Patrick--" Pete jolts a little, and Joe looks up.

"Wait, Patrick who?"

"...Stump?" Pete grins, and shakes his head, and Joe raises an eyebrow. "You know him?"

"Fuckin', of course I know him. Figures you would know fucking Patrick Stump." 

Joe ducks his head, and half-sings; "It's a small world, after all."

Pete laughs, and it feels like being free.

 

From there on out, there’s no somber eyes. Their hands stay linked until Pete has to use his to actually eat his sandwich, which Joe doesn’t begrudge him, and when they’re done eating they pay and go join Alex and Bronx on the monkey bars, and Pete pecks him on the cheek before he leaps down to chase Bronx toward the swings.

 

The best part is, no matter how nervous Joe was leading up to it, the date itself is...great.

 

Which sounds weird even in his head, because he’s thirty years old and has a job and a kid, but somehow is also on a date with a guy who wears eyeliner and is thirty four and also has a job and a kid?

 

Life is weird. He tries not to dwell on it.

 

-0-

 

“And wuuuv--”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Gabe.”

 

“Twuue wuuuv--”

 

“I’ll kill you.”

 

“Wiww fowwow youuuu--”

“Gabe.”

 

“Foweevaaaahh--”

 

Gabe shuts up when Joe smacks him upside the head with his sketchbook, devolving into a fit of evil giggles.

 

“You’re dating Pete Wentz.” Gabe snickers, and William rolls his eyes as he passes by. “Ryland!” He shouts, and Ryland looks up from the hedgehog he’s working on.

 

“What?”

 

“Joe’s dating Pete.” Ryland stares blankly at Gabe for a second, and then nods.

 

“Praise, hallelujah.” He says, and goes back to work, and Gabe nods smugly, propping his feet up on Joe’s desk, which Joe is pretty sure he only does so that Joe will have to knock them off.

 

“It’s fate, man.” Gabe insists, and Joe rolls his eyes. “I’m telling you.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

“That’s not a ‘no’.”

 

Joe hits him again. It gets more satisfying every time.

 

-0-

 

Joe loves his job. He fucking loves it.

 

He loves tattooing, and he loves tattoos, and he loves the art and the skill and the time it takes to do it. He loves the little shop, and the color of his desk, and the fact that 90% of his clientele decide he’s their best friend by the time he’s done. He loves the fucking idiots he works with, even though Gabe’s (not) an asshole, and Ryland speaks mostly in bad allegories, and William walks like a fucking stripper. He loves that Frank is a fucking amazing boss, and a fucking amazing artist, and a fucking amazing guy. He loves that Alex loves it, here, loves that she can walk right in the front door and have Gabe sweep her up in his arms like the fucking colossus that he is and spin her around while she giggles like a fucking maniac.

 

So, in short, Joe loves his job.

 

He loves it even more when one day he looks up from his sketches and sees blonde curls bouncing all over the place and a wide, toothy smile. He’s got just enough time to put his pen down and turn in his stool before his arms are full of Bronx, laughing and latching onto him like a sea urchin.

 

“Beastie!” He screeches, and Joe grins, wrapping his arms around the little dude.

 

“Hey, bud.” He looks up, and Pete’s leaning against the wall by his desk, grinning like the fucking dumbass that he is, with Hemmy straining at his leash trying to get to Joe’s shoes. Joe kind of loves him a lot.

 

“We were in the neighborhood, figured we’d come say hi.” He chuckles, and Joe’s heart doesn’t skip a beat, because that’s stupid and hearts don’t actually do that, but it definitely does something weird. He grins back in what he hopes isn’t the stupidest possible way, and nods while Bronx starts ravenously searching through his sketchbook.

 

“I’m glad.”

  
  


-0-

 

They’ve only been dating for six weeks.

 

It’s May, they’ve only been dating for six weeks, and Joe shouldn’t be doing this, he really fucking shouldn’t, it’s fucking ridiculous.

 

But Alex is with Marie, and it’s raining, and he can’t go home, with the house empty. He can’t. He’s been wandering around for forty minutes in the fucking torrential downpour since Marie picked Alex up outside the apartment, and he can’t go home.

 

His hair is wet, and limp, falling into his eyes in spite of the bun, and he shouldn’t be walking toward Pete’s house, he knows, but he also knows that Bronx is at Ashlee’s for the weekend, and Alex is at Marie’s for the next six days, so his judgement is a little cloudy.

 

He hits the buzzer, and there’s a pause, and then a sleep-rough voice drifts through the intercom.

 

“Wazzup?”

 

“It’s me.” He should probably clarify who ‘me’ is, because for all Pete knows he’s some terrifying serial killer or some shit, but then the buzz comes back, and the door’s opening, and Joe honestly can’t bring himself to give a shit whether or not Pete would have let in a serial killer.

 

He trudges up the stairs to the door, and knocks twice, vaguely aware that he’s probably dripping all over the carpet, and vaguely aware that Pete should be mad at him for that.

 

The door opens, and Pete’s standing on the other side, looking a lot more awake than he sounded, christmas tree pyjama bottoms slung low over his hips, and half-drowning in a hoodie that’s got to be seven sizes too big for him, that he’s cut off around his midrift. Joe can see his stomach, and the thorns are still visible around his collarbone, and he wants to say ‘ _I love you_ ’ but looks at the floor instead.

 

Pete gazes at him for a long moment, and he doesn’t say anything, but he reaches up, and pushes a lock of Joe’s sopping wet hair out of his face, and frames the side of his head with his hand, his fingers warm against Joe’s scalp.

 

“C’mere.” He whispers, and Joe wants to protest as he’s dragged down to press his face into the soft fabric of Pete’s hoodie, because he’s going to get it wet, and it’s going to suck, but Pete kisses the side of his head, and wraps an arm around his waist in spite of the fact that his shirt is clinging to his skin it’s so drenched, so he figures it’s okay.  

 

Pete drags him inside, and shuts the door, leaving Joe shivering in the kitchen for a second after brushing a kiss over his cheek. Joe stares at the tile floor, and tries not to think about how small he feels.

 

Pete comes back with one of those giant beach towels that are made for people with ten children, which he wraps around Joe’s shoulders, and a pair of sweats that look like they’d fit John Goodman. Joe accepts both with as much of a smile as he can muster, and Pete kisses him.

 

His lips are soft, and warm, and Joe wants to sink into Pete and never crawl back out, his fingertips brushing the hem of Pete’s shirt, until Pete pulls back with his stupid toothy grin and his stupid brown eyes and his stupid everything and makes Joe want to kiss him again.

  
“Get dressed, Aquaman.” Joe rolls his eyes.

 

“How long you been saving that one?” He’s surprised at how coherent his voice is, and is even more surprised at the way his stomach jumps when Pete laughs.

 

“Too long.” He says, and squeezes Joe’s hand before he turns away, heading back toward the bedroom. “C’mon.”

 

Joe changes as quickly as he possibly can, and Pete doesn’t stare at him, too busy pulling extra pillows out of his closet and tossing them onto the bed. Joe’s kind of grateful. Hardcore breakups and realizing you’re gay don’t do wonders for your self-esteem.

 

Pete didn’t give him a shirt, so he pushes his still-damp hair out of his face, and stands a little awkwardly until Pete takes his wrist, and pulls him down onto the bed.

 

Joe doesn’t realize how cold his skin still is until he’s under Pete’s comforter, with Pete’s thigh hooked around his waist, and Pete’s hands spread across his back, hot and sure, like they belong there.

 

Pete rests their foreheads together, and bumps their noses, and kisses Joe like sunshine and warm summer nights, and Joe feels a little more okay.

 

He falls asleep to the soft sound of Pete’s breathing and the knowledge that Pete never asked Joe why he came here. He just knew.

 

-0-

 

He wakes up the next morning with fingers carding through his hair, and when he opens his eyes, Pete’s looking at him intently, like he’s afraid Joe will disappear if he looks away.

 

“Hey.” Joe murmurs, his voice sleep-rough and scratchy, and Pete smiles, softly.

 

“Hey.” He kisses him, and Joe feels almost human.

 

-0-

 

Joe comes home five days later and hears shrieking laughter coming from the living room.

 

He half jogs into the room, and there’s a shock of reddish brown hair and a pair of heavily tattooed hands lifting Alex high into the air before setting her back down again. Joe stands frozen in the doorway, just staring, wide-eyed, as Andy looks up, his face split into a wide smile while Alex clings to his shoulders.

 

He sets her down slowly, and at that point Joe’s brain remembers that it has responsibilities to his body, and before he can fully understand what’s happening, he’s throwing himself forward, collapsing against Andy and burying his face in the crook of his neck, and his hair is short, now, when the fuck did that happen, but it matters significantly less than it would normally, because Andy’s holding him as tight as he can, one arm coiled firmly around his waist and the other pressed between his shoulderblades so he can curl his fingers into Joe’s hair.

“I picked her up from Marie’s a day early. Saved her the trip back out.” He murmurs, and Joe huffs out a laugh, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I noticed.”

“Papa, Andy’s home!” Alex squeals from beneath them, and Joe pulls him, if possible, closer.

“I noticed.”

 

Later, Andy will smack Joe upside the head because “Pete Wentz? Your boyfriend is Pete Fucking Wentz?” Joe flaps his hands uselessly, while Andy rolls his eyes. “I know Pete, you fucking dingbat. Of fucking course you’re dating Pete.”

 

Joe opens his mouth to ask, but Andy’s already there.

“You’re fucking perfect for each other, asshole.” Joe pauses, and then grins, and Andy grins back.

 

“Thanks.” He says, and means it. Andy reaches out, and drags him close with an arm around his neck, and Joe wraps himself around him like a koala, all arms and legs, on the too-small couch.

 

It’s worth it.

 

-0-

 

Andy goes over to Pete’s that night, leaving Joe alone with Alex for the first time in almost a week.

 

He successfully avoids burning a batch of mac 'n cheese and grins when she sings her praises for it over the dinner table.

 

“It’s sooooo good, Papa.”

 

“I’m glad you like it, honey.”

 

“Really, really, really good.” She insists, more sincere this time, and Joe looks at her with a raised eyebrow. Alex pokes at her food for a second and shrugs.

 

“Mommy doesn’t make mac 'n cheese.” Joe swallows, thickly, and pushes his hair out of his face, and tries not to bite down too hard on his bottom lip.

 

“No?”

 

“No.”

 

“But she makes you other cool stuff, right?”

 

Alex nods, vivaciously, and grins.

 

“Mommy made me lasaganaga.”

 

“Lasagna?”

 

“Yeah!”

 

Joe grins, and notes with relief that the pang in his chest at the mention of Marie seems to have subsided, somewhat.

 

“But no mac n cheese?” Alex sombers, and shakes her head.

 

“She says it’s bad for me.” Which is ridiculous, because Joe only buys the Annie’s organic bullshit, but he’s not gonna say that to his six year old kid, especially when she immediately perks up a second later. “Petey does, though!”

 

It takes Joe a second before he remembers that, oh, right, as much time as he’s spent with Bronx, Pete has spent with Alex, and that even if he hasn’t been there to see it, they’ve grown fond of each other, more so than Joe had maybe counted on.

 

“Pete makes it for you?”

 

Alex’s grin is blinding, and Joe loves it.

 

“He’s got _six kinds_.” Joe nods approvingly.

 

“I guess i’ll have to step up my game.” Alex laughs, because even if she doesn’t actually get the phrase, Joe said it in the special voice he says things in that are generally funny, and the voice in and of itself is funny to her, and _god_ , it was only five days, but he missed her so much, and the summer is going to be so much worse. He takes another bite, and swallows down the lump rising in his throat, and asks another question instead.

 

“So...you like Pete, then?”

 

Alex blinks at him like he’s just asked her if the sky is blue or not, and Joe nods, and goes back to eating, because, yeah.

 

Duh.

 

-0-

 

He gets a call, one night, around a week and a half after Andy gets back, at three in the morning from a very, very awake Pete.

 

“‘Lo?”

 

“Did I wake you up?” Joe blinks groggily at the clock, but it’s an asshole, so he looks the other way in favor of listening to the sound of Pete’s slightly frantic voice.

 

“Kinda, but it’s okay.” There’s a pause, where Joe’s heart starts to pick up its beat, and then; “Are _you_ okay?”

 

Pete exhales slowly, into the phone, and Joe can see him shaking his head, just a little.

 

“It’s….it’s like...you have a kid, and….and it makes it better, you know? It makes it better, it makes most of the...the bad shit go away.” He sounds shaky, and unsure, and Joe wishes he could touch him. “Cause...like….when the five year old wants breakfast, it doesn’t really matter how you feel, you know?”

 

Joe does, in fact know. Joe knows perfectly well.

 

“Yeah.” He says slowly, waiting for Pete’s continuation, which comes eventually, but his voice is trembling even more than before.

 

“A-and most...most of the time, it’s cool, you know? It’s cool, cause...cause I’m just...okay. Like, really okay.” He swallows, hard, and Joe can hear it, intermingled with the harsh breaths he’s drawing in. “B-but...but I’m still...I’m still a little fucked up, sometimes, and I’m still...I’m not always gonna be okay, you know?” Joe blinks at the ceiling, and shakes his head.

 

“And?” Pete exhales slowly.

 

“And...I want...I want you to know that, because...I really, really like you, and I really like being with you, but I’m not….I’m not...always gonna be okay, and if...that’s not...okay, for you, then...then that’s okay and we can...stop.” Joe bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, and closes his eyes.

 

“Where are you?” He asks, and there’s a pause, and then;

 

“Home.” Joe’s eyes flick to the door, and he gets up, pulling on the nearest pair of sweatpants, and searching blindly for his boots. Andy slept over, so he figures it’s alright if he skips out. He’ll probably take advantage of being alone with Alex in the morning to, like...feed her vegan cheese and talk to her about the competitive capitalist dogma, or something.

 

“I’m coming over.”

 

“Joe--”

 

“Pete.” He cuts him off, pulling on his left shoe, and then one of Andy’s stupid hoodies, because it doesn’t really matter that it’s May, it’s still cold as balls out at three AM. “I’m coming over.” He says it with what he hopes is an air of finality, and it must have gotten across, because Pete stops arguing. There’s a long beat of silence while Joe walks out to the car, keys jingling in his hand, and then Pete sighs, softly.

 

“Okay.” He says, sounding resigned, and Joe nods.

 

“Five minutes, alright?” He can practically see Pete’s nod.

 

“Okay.”

  
  


It’s actually more like four minutes because Joe decides that traffic laws are for fascists and speeds almost all of the way there, but it’s Pete, so it doesn’t really matter.

 

He’s buzzed up, and when he gets inside, Pete’s sitting up on the counter, with his knees pulled up to his chest, and his chin resting on his arms, folded across them. He looks...small, which is a word Joe’s never thought to use for Pete before, because Pete takes up whole rooms with just his smile and his personality, and it’s a foreign concept for him to be small.

 

But Joe takes it in stride as best he can, walks over, and rests his hands on either side of Pete on the counter, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together.

 

They’re quiet, for a long while, just breathing in and out in slow, even movements, and being close to each other, and then something in Pete’s demeanor shifts. His shoulders relax, albeit only slightly, and he tilts his head, keeling forward to rest it on Joe’s shoulder. Joe reaches up, and cards his fingers through the short, spiky hair at the back of Pete’s head, and slides his other arm around his back, pulling him closer. Pete goes willingly, and unfolds his legs to wrap them around Joe’s waist, fingers curling tight in the front of his shirt.

 

“You’re not gonna scare me away by being a little bit broken.” Joe says softly, and kisses Pete’s temple. Pete bites his lip, and shuts his eyes tight, but doesn’t respond. Joe tugs his head up, and presses their lips together, slow, and gentle.

 

“I’m sorry I’m fucked up.” Pete rasps into his mouth, and Joe shakes his head, and kisses him again, a little harder this time.

 

“Don’t be.” He murmurs, and moves his hand down to cup Pete’s cheek. “You’re perfect to me.”

 

The little smile that cracks Pete’s face is worth all the three AM calls in the world.

  
  
  


-0-

 

“You’re sure it’s okay?” Pete asks for what’s got to be literally the fifteen thousandth time, and Joe doesn’t elbow him in the ribs, but it’s a near thing. He kisses his cheek, instead.

 

“A hundred per cent A-okay, babe.” Pete looks distressed, so Joe kisses him for real, lays one on his lips in spite of the retching sounds Patrick is making next to them. Pete pulls back, but he’s got a hand on the back of Joe’s neck, and he looks significantly more relaxed.

 

“I just...I feel like I’m leaving my wife at home with the kids while I go drinking.” He says, and Joe rolls his eyes as Patrick says;

 

“Well, Andy's gonna be there, so you’re not gonna be drinking, anyway.” Pete gives him the finger, and Patrick kicks at his shins and walks toward the car. Joe tugs Pete into a hug, and kisses the side of his neck.

 

“Believe it or not, I actually _like_ hanging out with these kids.” He says, and Pete squeezes him tight. “Plus, you and the Asshole deserve a little time.” Pete pulls back, and he’s grinning that special grin that’s just for Joe, and Joe’s stomach does backflips.

 

“Be back by midnight. I promise.” Joe give him The Look, and Pete shrugs. “Two, then.” A nod, and a kiss, and then he’s gone.

 

Bronx attaches himself to Joe’s leg and demands Beauty and the Beast, while Alex does the same to his other shin, and Joe really can’t complain.

 

-0-

  
  


“Beastie?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“Where’s dad?” Bronx asks, while Alex curls up next to him in bed, and Joe smiles as he pulls the covers up over the kids’ shoulders.

“He’s out with uncle Patrick.” He says softly, pulling Beelzebub out from under a pile of legos, and shaking him off. “So I’m the best you’ve got, for right now.” Alex mumbles something to Bronx, who mumbles something back, and Joe, momentarily, despises children as an institution.

“Papa?” It’s Alex’s voice this time, and Joe nods.

“Yeah, bud?” There’s a pause and then Bronx says, almost whispers;

“Are you gonna be my dad?” Joe freezes where he’s pressing Beelzebub into Bronx’s hands and looks up, one eyebrow raised.

“Do you want that?” And Bronx is five, so there’s no way he’ll understand how much weight that question holds, but he definitely knows the answer, because a grin spreads like wildfire across the kid’s face, and he nods vehemently.

“If you were my dad, Alex would be my sister, right?” Joe nods, slowly, and Bronx continues. “And then I could have two dads, and my dad would be Alex’s dad, right?” Another nod, accompanied by a hard swallow. Bronx’s smile gets, if possible wider. “So we could have two of the same dad!” Joe laughs softly, and reaches out, pulling Alex and Bronx up into his arms and crushing them to his chest while Bronx laughs and Alex squeals at him to _put me down, Papa, you smell_!

 

-0-

 

The first time they have sex, it’s not exactly monumental. They’re grown men, and they have needs, and Joe’s jerked Pete off about as many times as Pete has pinned him to the floor and gotten him to come in about forty seconds with that fucking mouth, but they haven’t actually had the sex, yet.

 

Had the sex, what is he, his fucking six-year old?

 

But Alex is with Marie, and Bronx is with Ashlee, and for any normal couple, talking about it would be unnecessary, because they would both just figure that that’d be the time to try it, but oh, no, not when you’re dating Pete Wentz.

 

Nope, when you’re dating Pete Wentz, he looks at you over his latte at Starbucks and says;

“So, Alex and Bronx are both gonna be out of town, and I think we should fuck.”

 

Joe jolts, and chokes on his chai, and has to cough for about a full minute before he can actually find the words. Pete waits patiently, and sips his pile of sugary bullshit.

 

“Right.” Joe rasps, and nods. “Right, yeah, no, we should, uh, yeah.” He thumps a fist on his chest, and nods again. “Let’s, uh. Do the do.”

 

Pete blinks, and raises an eyebrow.

 

“Do the do?”

 

Joe shrugs, and coughs again, making vaguely phallic hand motions.

 

“Y’know. Do the….the do.” He flails, helplessly, until Pete catches one of his hands, and links their fingers together, easy as pie, bringing it to his lips to kiss Joe’s knuckles.

 

“This, right here?” He says, grinning, and motioning toward Joe with his free hand. “This is why I date you.”

 

Joe rolls his eyes.

 

“You just gestured to all of me.” He says, and Pete tugs him forward, leaning closer to kiss him softly.

 

“Well, I’m dating all of you, right?” Joe glowers at him, but Pete kisses his nose, and he can’t keep being fake-pissed, because it’s hard to look fake-pissed when you’re blushing like a fucking idiot.

 

“Yeah.” He mutters, and grins. “Yeah, you’re right.”

 

-0-

 

Joe gets to Pete’s apartment, and is definitely not even slightly nervous, except for the fact that his hands are shaking and he feels like he’s about to pass out.

 

This all of course dissipates as soon as Pete opens the door, because as soon as Pete opens the door, he closes it just as fast, but this time with Joe inside, and pressed up against it, and Pete’s mouth is on his, and Pete’s licking into his mouth, and oh, fuck, when the fuck did that happen?

 

Joe’s hands come up to hold Pete’s hips, and Pete’s fingers tangle in his hair while he grins against Joe’s lips, nuzzling his nose down Joe’s cheek to bite at his jaw.

 

“So, we were gonna wait till after dinner.” Pete murmurs, all-too steady sounding considering he’s got a thigh between Joe’s and is pressing down on Joe’s rapidly growing erection. Joe makes a sort of soft gurgling sound which Pete takes as confirmation, and he bites down a little harder. “But I kind of don’t want to wait.”

 

Joe nods dumbly, and reaches up, tugging at Pete until he looks up and Joe can kiss him again, cradling Pete’s head between hands that feel almost too large.

 

Pete pulls him toward the bedroom, and Joe follows him, kissing along his cheek and chin until Pete twists and turns them, pushing Joe down onto the bed. His hands slide up under Joe’s shirt, and tug until Joe raises his arms up and Pete can pull it off, kissing his way up Joe’s chest to his mouth, and Joe definitely does not make little whimpering sounds when he does because he is an _adult_.

 

Pete is a warm, hot weight between his thighs, and Joe wants to sink into him, and never be separated again, but he can’t, so instead he settles for sliding his hands down into the back of Pete’s jeans and squeezing at the ass that he didn’t know Pete had until basically just now because, y’know, jeans.

 

There’s a lot more kissing, and a lot of distractions, and a lot of Pete’s hands in Joe’s hair which, hey, he can totally get behind, and finally, finally, the clothes are fucking gone, and Pete is naked above him, panting, with sweat-damp skin that Joe wants nothing more than to touch every inch of, and he has to pause for a second, and just _look_ at him.

 

Because Pete is...basically the most beautiful thing Joe’s ever seen. He’s all lean muscles and tanned skin and dark brown eyes and his smile is so fucking perfect when he laughs down at Joe, and says; “Troh, you’re staring, kind of.”

 

Joe just pushes up on his elbows and kisses him again, groans when Pete thrusts his hips down and their cocks brush between them, and _fuck_ , it’s really been way too fucking long since he actually did this.

 

He has to take a moment, when Pete pushes in, open mouth and closed eyes and probably the physical representation of incredible on earth, because this, this person, who has an amazing kid and the body of a greek god, wants him, with his lisp, and his stupid nose, and his stupid pudgy middle, and that’s enough to throw anyone off.

 

But then Pete’s mouth is finding his again, and Pete’s hands are on his hips, steadying him, and Pete’s picking up a slow, steady rhythm that’s got both of them weak in the knees, and he’s kissing over Joe’s cheek to his ear and whispering into it things like _“so fucking beautiful”_ and “ _fuck, love you, Joe_ ” and all the self-loathing kind of dissipates.

 

Coming in perfect synchronization is something that exists only in romance novels and bad porn, and Joe’s never been particularly quick, but it’s okay.

 

Because Pete comes hard, with his face buried in the crook of Joe’s neck, and stays inside while he jerks him off, slick, speedy strokes, with his cheek resting against Joe’s and his breath ghosting over his ear and his other hand linked with Joe’s on the mattress, their fingers woven together like they belong there, and when Joe comes, in hot, wet streaks across his chest, and Pete’s hand, Pete shifts down and licks it up like he actually likes it.

 

“That’s super unsanitary.” Joe comments dryly, collapsing back into the mattress, and Pete grins, and kisses his cheek sloppily.

 

“Better go wash my mouth out, then.” He sighs, and starts to push himself up off the bed, but Joe grabs him with an arm looped around his waist and drags him back in, cupping his cheek with his free hand and kissing him slowly because he fucking _can_.

 

They fall asleep pressed close together, smelling like sweat and come and sex, and Joe’s fully aware that he’s going to have the second circle of hell between his asscheeks tomorrow, but it doesn’t really matter, because Pete presses his face into his chest, and closes his eyes, and “I meant it.”

 

Joe picks his head up off the pillow, just slightly, and strokes his fingers through Pete’s hair.

 

“Meant what?”

 

“I love you.” If hearts could actually sing, Joe’s would, but it doesn’t, so instead he kisses Pete’s forehead, and sinks back into the bed, pulling him, if possible, closer.

 

“Yeah, well. Good. Cause, y’know.” He swallows, thickly, and shakes his head. “If you didn’t, it’d be super awkward how much I love you.”

 

Pete kisses Joe’s solar plexus and tangles their legs together and doesn’t complain about Joe’s cold toes.

 

-0-

 

Marie picks Alex up for the summer on June 15th, two days after school ends. Pete’s there, with Bronx, and Alex hugs Bronx so tight that they both have to let out large huffs of breath when they part.

 

Marie’s got her hair pushed back in a bun, and is wearing a bandana. Pete comments that she looks like Rosie the Riveter, and Marie throws her head back and laughs in a way Joe hasn’t seen her do in a long time.

 

While Pete is hugging Alex goodbye, she touches Joe’s elbow, and he turns to her.

 

“I’m glad you found him.” She says, and Joe raises an eyebrow, but his eyes flick back to Pete where he’s squishing Alex’s face into his bicep, and he knows.

 

“Me, too.” Her smile is sweet, and there’s nothing of the sadness that was in it right after they broke up. He’s never been more happy to see it.

 

Alex holds Pete at her level, and whispers something seriously in his ear, which Pete takes in stride and nods seriously at in agreement. Joe’s going to ask what, but then she bounds over, and he gathers her up into his chest like a ragdoll on instinct, holds her as close and as tight as he can while she babbles about how often she’s gonna call, and how many letters she’s gonna write (because she’s six and she still trusts the US postal service) and Joe kisses the top of her head and resolutely does not cry.

 

“I love you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, and she presses her face into his shirt. “I love you so much. I’ll talk to you when your flight lands, okay?”

 

Alex pulls back, and nods, holding his face between both hands.

 

“Don’t be sad, Papa.” She demands, and he grins an embarrassingly watery grin. “Promise not to be sad.”

 

Joe leans down, and kisses her forehead, and bumps their noses together.

 

“I promise.”

  
  


When they’re all finally loaded into the car, Marie, and Alex, and all of Alex’s many, many princess bags, Pete wraps an arm around Joe’s shoulders, and pulls him close, kissing him softly. Joe leans into him, and closes his eyes, when they part, resting his head on Pete’s shoulder.

 

“Two months.” He says, and Pete nods, stroking a lock of his hair back behind his ear while Bronx chases Hemmingway across the yard. Joe nods, slowly.

 

“Two months.” He blinks, and picks his head up, looking at Pete quizzically. “What did she say to you?”

 

Pete grins, and his thumb brushes down Joe’s cheek.

 

“She said I have to take real good care of her Papa.” He whispers, and kisses Joe’s nose. “And I’m planning on it.”

 

Joe wraps his arms around Pete’s waist, and catches his lips with his own, kissing him long and slow and sweet, ignoring the tears that are prickling at this eyes.

  
It feels like home. 


End file.
